Dr Jekyll and Peter Hyde
by LongTitle
Summary: The Peter that Mike knew and loved as his best friend was a peace-loving, optimistic, occasionally naïve, sweet, sensitive, well-intentioned Peter...The blond standing in the middle of the living room, the Mr. Hyde who had just almost choked Micky to death, this was not his Peter. Rated M for sex, legal drugs and rock and rollers...and just to be safe...
1. Dr Jekyll and Peter Hyde

This is my first fan fiction story that I've had the guts to post online. I've actually been semi-inspired from reading all of the other Monkees fics.

Please review!

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**Chapter 1**

"Peter, c'mon let's go. We are going to be late." Mike called up the circular stairs. He glanced impatiently at his watch again as his blood started to boil. They were supposed to leave for the Fairfield Country Club more than 20 minutes ago for a long sought after gig. It was five in the afternoon, and with rush hour traffic, every minute count. It was now 5:20.

He looked over at Davy and Micky, who were both standing by the door. Davy had his arms crossed, tapping his foot in annoyance, while Micky hopped impatiently around him.

If they didn't leave soon, they would be seriously late, and maybe would even have to forfeit their pay. The thought of losing a good paying job sent Mike over. "Peter! If we lose this gig and money, man, I swear to god I will kill you!"

After a second, Peter appeared on the top landing, an odd serene smile on his face. Mike looked up at Peter's outfit and clenched his fists. "Peter! What the hell are you wearing? You know that we decided on the grey slacks and blue shirts!" Mike stretched out his hand, indicating the outfits of the three boys; tight grey pants with their signature eight-button shirts comfortably untucked. They had decided on blue, since the country club walls and floor were painted a reddish orange. Blue would stand out.

Now Peter stood there in slender black jeans, a fitted black sweatshirt, and simple black moccasin boots that hit his knee.

"What time is it Michael?" he asked simply, ignoring Mike rant.

"What time is it, _what time is it?_" Davy blurted out, "It's bloody time to go, it is."

"It's 5:30, Peter, and we need to leave _now_!."

Peter just nodded, that odd smile still fixed on his face. Instead of heading back into the bedroom to change his clothes, Peter slowly descended the steps,

"Try not to rush, Shotgun." Mike rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "We might actually make it on time."

As Peter reached the bottom of steps, there was a loud knock on the door. "It's about time." Peter mumbled, as he passed Mike and headed for the kitchen.

"What did you say?" Mike angrily asked, even more annoyed that precious minutes would be wasted dealing with the person at the door.

Davy sighed then turned and opened the door. "'Ello, what can we do for you…He barely got the sentence out, when he was pushed backwards into the living room. Micky stopped bouncing immediately. Instead, he eyes were drawn to the pistol that was currently aimed in the middle of Davy's chest.

Two men pushed into the pad, both armed with guns. They both looked to be in their early 20's, faces still plump with youth. Both wore dark suits, matched with dark shirt and tie. Even their hair colour matched. Dark brown, severe crew cut.

The shorter one now pushed the barrel of his gun into Davy's chest, guiding him towards the couch. The taller one grabbed Mickys' arm and maneuvered him to follow. Mike voluntarily raised his hands up and backed himself towards the couch.

"It's about time." Peter called out. He was now leaning against the brick pillar next to the kitchen, arms folded, knee bent back, and foot resting on the wall. "You were supposed to be here 30 minutes ago."

"Sorry 'bout that, got hung up. Things didn't go as well as we planned."

"Did you at least get it?"

"Yeah, right where they said." The taller one now laughed. "Funny how a little arm twisting and breaking gets you the info you need." As he said this, he twisted Micky's arm sharply to illustrate, who proceeded to yelp in pain.

"Hey! What the hell is going on here, man? Peter, who are these people"? The anger in Mike's voice remained, but was now inflected with fear.

Peter peeled himself off the wall and cocked his head towards Mike. He still wore that strange expression that Mike couldn't quite read; it seemed cold, almost calculating, mixed with a smirk that belayed a hint of amusement. Mike had known Peter for many years and he had never, _ever_ seen this look.

"All in good time, Michael. All in good time." Peter's voice was low, having dropped an octave from his usual moderate pitch. Peter grabbed Mike's shoulder tight, and with fingers digging hard, he manoeuvred Mike toward and into the couch, next to an already seated Davy and Micky.

Mike could only respond with a grimace and an "Ow".

Micky now rose from the couch. "Hey Pete, c'mon man, what's going on? What's the joke?" He walked over to Peter and lightly punched him in the shoulder, a jovial look on his face. He was hoping this was a prank set up by Peter. A not very funny or timely prank, but a prank nonetheless.

"You think this is a prank, do you Mick?" Peter said; voice still low and cold, eyes unmoving.

Micky felt a shiver from Peter's stare, then let out an uncomfortable laugh to try to ease the tension, "Yeah, Pete, it's a prank right? Sure it's a prank. _Right_?" He nodded his head hopefully, hopeful grin showing his teeth, curly mop flopping in the air.

In a flash, Peter's hand whipped out, grabbed Micky by his neck and slammed him against the brick pillar. Micky felt his head bounce off the stone, then realized he couldn't breathe. Peter was mere inches from Mickys' face, long fingers squeezing tightly around Mickys' slender neck.

"A prank, eh? Shall we laugh?" he said, in a low, menacing tone. Mickys' eyes were bugged out now, his face full of fear. Peter eased up a bit, then dropped his hand. "Go join your friends." He pointed back to the couch. Eyes still wide, Micky didn't question, instead quickly moving back to the couch, taking his seat between Mike and Davy.

Mike just stared at Peter, at the two other thugs, his mind rolling over. What the hell was going on? Who were these people? Why was Peter involved? Why was Peter acting this way?

How the hell could Peter act this way?

If there was ever a true life example of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, right now, Peter was it.

The Peter that Mike knew and loved as his best friend was a peace-loving, optimistic, occasionally naïve, sweet, sensitive, well-intentioned Peter. He was always enthusiastic about the group, about his friends, about anything in life, actually. He never judged, he rarely complained, he took life as it was, with a beautiful smile and positive attitude. His loved being in the band; in fact, every band gig they had, Peter would be the one who excitedly loaded the car with their instruments, amps, and other band paraphernalia. He had done that today, not two hours ago. He was also the voice of innocence, of gentleness, his goodness, his ever-present dimple lighting up the room when he smiled. Sometimes he came off as a bit goofy, or clueless, but Mike knew that his Peter was just a good, well-meaning person.

The blond standing in the middle of the living room, the Mr. Hyde who had just almost choked Micky to death, this was not his Peter.

"So what's the plan?" Peter now addressed the two dark-suited men as he walked over to the kitchen stove. Opening the oven door, he stuck his hand in deep, and fiddling around for a few seconds, pulled out a gun. Like an expert, he popped open the cylinder, spun it around, looking at the loaded shells. Squinting one eye, he looked down the barrel towards the sight, ensuring it was straight and proper. Pushing the barrel back into place, he cocked and uncocked the hammer. It seemed that he was checking that it worked properly.

The only thing left was to pull the trigger.

Mike wondered how long the gun had been stashed in the oven. With the Monkees, money was sparse, so that meant food was sparse. Rent had to be covered first. They rarely had enough food to bother turning on the oven. The last time it was turned on, must have been a month ago.

Peter, now satisfied that the gun was sound, set the safety, then slid the gun into the waistband of his black jeans. He walked back to the living room and stood between the trio and the thugs.

"Oh, wait, I forgot my manners. I should introduce everyone." Peter smiled, a toothy grin with not a trace of dimple. "Michael, David, Micky, I want you to meet my partners in crime; Boggs and McManus." He stated, indicating the taller man first, then the shorter.

"Ah well, it's nice to meet you?" Davy said, his British accent failing to mask the sarcasm. "Now what the bloody hell is going on?"

No one bothered to answer an angry looking Davy.

"The boss says he'll be here in an hour. Then we'll go to the next phase." Boggs said, casually waving his gun towards the trio.

"Eh Thor, what you think we should do with these ones, once the boss shows up." McManus said out loud.

The trio looked around. Wait, didn't they just say their names were Boggs and McManus?

"Thor? Who's Thor?" Micky and Davy asked in unison, dumbly looking around.

Peter flicked his hand casually. "That would be me."

"Thor, where the hell did that come from? Is it like a nickname or something?" Micky couldn't help asking, momentarily ignoring the three guns that waved in their direction. Momentarily forgetting this wasn't his wonderful friend.

Peter tipped his head again towards the trio, almost considering before he answered. "Thor. Short for Thorkelson. With a Th. Old Norse. Roughly means Helmet or Cauldron of Thor. You know, the Viking God of Thunder and Lightning." Peter paused, "but I guess you would've known that before if you'd ever asked me about it."

"What do you mean by asked you about it, Peter?" Davy asked.

"I mean, if you ever asked me something. Asked something about myself. Tried to have an intelligent conversation with me. Instead of always assuming I'm the dummy. Even think that maybe I just think differently from you guys." Peter's mouth curled into an angry scowl. "Ever think about that?"

"But we've always asked you stuff….just last week…" Micky started.

"ENOUGH!" Peter shouted, his voice loud and angry. "These are lies!"

Micky nor Davy continued, instead just blinking dumbfounded.

Peter never, _ever_ shouted.

Mike sat pondering this. Something was off. All three of them asked Peter lots of questions about his life before. About his life back in Connecticut, his family back home, his uncanny ability to learn each and every musical instrument so quickly, what brought him to Los Angeles. Hell, Mike remembered long conversations on the beach, or on the balcony, the four of them goofily philosophising on everything, however trivial or important.

Why was Peter pretending this never happened; that his friends had no interest in him at all?

Peter seemed to almost read Mike's mind, because he averted his eyes quickly and said, "Think about it."

"Yeah, you think differently, all right. You're working with these blokes." Davy spit out bitterly. "That's different, and stupid, innit?" he added for good measure.

Peter just eyed him carefully, but again didn't reply to Davy. Instead, he addressed the others. "We'll wait for the boss, and figure out what to do with this mishmash then."

All three of the Monkees now scowled at Peter.

There was a knock at the door again.

"What is it?" Boggs yelled out.

Before he even had a chance to head towards the door, it opened, revealing a slim, blondish haired woman behind it.

All eyes went to her. She was wearing a dark red, almost maroon A-line dress that reached to her knees, except the skirt was pleated. The collar of the dress was lined in black, and formed a delicate V-shape around her neck. Her stockings were also black, and melded in with her black patent mary-janes. She took a few steps into the pad, her eyes searching the room.

Her hair was unusually loose, parted in the middle, almost golden in colour, it fell to just the top of her shoulders. In fact, her hair was very similar to Peters; very straight, very luminescent, very golden. Only hers was parted in the middle, his to the side.

The Monkees watched intently as she scanned the room, then her gaze fell upon Peter's.

She smiled.

"I missed you, baby."


	2. Peter and Patty

**Chapter 2**

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"I missed you, baby."

Peter smiled, his face almost like his typical self. He slowly walked toward her, and Mike could swear he saw him swallow a bit in, what, fear? Was that it?

Boggs and McManus ignored the two, guns continuing to be trained on the trio on the couch.

Peter reached her, and immediately drew her into his arms. "You look beautiful."

She smiled at him, a familiarity that truly threw Mike off. He knew that Peter didn't have a girlfriend, and rarely went out with girls. It was his shyness, it seemed to overwhelm him, take away his ability to find a girl, to be comfortable with a girl, to even start a conversation with a girl. Peter was incredibly shy in dealing with the dating scene in general. The Miss Cartwright incident from a year ago flashed in Mike's mind.

But not this Peter, Mike mused. This one was the opposite. Cold, determined and definitely not shy.

The Mr. Hyde was truly shocking.

So where did she fit into all of this?

The girl was now threading her fingers through Peter's hair, while Peter gazed lovingly at her.

"Patty!" Boggs yelled out, "What you doing here?"

"I figured Peter could use some encouragement." She said, as she looked into his eyes, smiling blissfully as she stroked his earlobes.

"Patty, if Babyface sees this, there's gonna be hell to pay." McManus now spoke up; his eyes squinted towards the pair.

"Yeah, so what if he does?" Patty replied. "Peter here will protect me." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders now, her eyes sensuously moving from his eyes to his lips. "It's not like I'm his girl anymore."

McManus rolled his eyes. "You know he doesn't like his former girls playing with the help. So for you and Thor's sake, you'd better cool it when The Face is around."

Mike, Micky and Davy all looked each other, fear in their eyes.

Babyface? Babyface Morales? _Gangster Babyface Morales?_

The same Babyface that Micky imitated perfectly? Whom Micky was a perfect copy of? What in the hell did Babyface want with Peter?

What the hell was Peter doing _working_ for Babyface?

She glanced over to the couch, her eyes slowly taking in the three, lingering on Micky the longest. "So that's the twin, huh? Wow. What a dead ringer. It's surreal" She chuckled.

"Whatever you think, girly, but youse better watch yourself." McManus shrugged his shoulders as he pulled out a silver cigarette case from inside his jacket. "Boggs, let's leave these two for a bit." He said, pulling two cigarettes from the case, handing one to Boggs, and directing him towards the balcony with a nod from his head.

The moment the thugs were on the balcony, Peter gently moved Patty towards the brick pillar, a mere meter away. He slid his body close to hers, again an odd smile on his face. His face looked almost hesitant, insecure, like his Jekyll self. Patty smiled at him serenely, gently stroking his cheek.

"I missed you." She said again, so faint that the guys could barely hear.

From his angle, Mike could have sworn the Peter swallowed nervously, but it was hard to tell. There was nothing nervous about his actions. He was right now pressing his body up against hers, against the brick, his eyes feasting over her. "God, did I ever miss you." He whispered into her ear; however it was loud enough so that the trio heard.

Patty pulled back a little and then reached her hand out, almost hesitantly. Her fingers lightly moved into Peter's bangs, brushing them from his eyes. He smiled at her, a hint of his brilliant grin emerging.

On the couch, there was a total sense of confusion. First of all, the trio had never, _ever_ seen Peter act this openly, this wantonly with a woman. Secondly, they had never seen Peter ever, _ever_, cause violence to anyone. Micky throbbing neck reminded him of that. Third, Peter was so, _so_ _shy_. This was so unusual for him, none of them could make sense of it.

Patty continued to weave her fingers through Peter's hair. He just looked into her eyes, serene and content. She moved his locks left, then right, gently running her fingers through the silk. For a while, it looked like Peter had a bad case of "bedhead", though his type of hair tended to resist knotting up and being unruly in general. After a bit, she started parting his hair in the middle, gently combing his long locks on either side, to fall neatly along his temple and cheek and ear.

"I think you look so much sexier with the middle part". She whispered.

He smiled at her and ran his hands up her arms.

It was funny how hair can colour your opinion. The trio on the couch could only watch as this surreal moment unfolded.

Peter with the side part always looked so innocent, so naïve, so sensitive.

Peter with the centre part threw off the three. Davy thought that the hairstyle made him look older. Much, much older. Micky perceived a loss of the naïve, fun-loving, peaceable hippy he know and loved. He still looked like a hippy, but almost looked angry and slightly detached. Mike saw how the parted hair seemed to emphasized Peter's eyes; there was a determined hardness in them, and he didn't like it one bit.

Peter was now gazing at Patty. "If you like it, I'll keep it." He said, referencing his hair.

Patty's fingers gently pulled his hair behind his ears. It was long enough that it just curled behind them. She gave him a long look and then whispered, "Kiss me Peter…"

As Mike watched them in morbid fascination, he could have sworn that as she said this, she gave a little nod - no a little signal - to Peter. It was almost imperceptible, but the nod of her head seemed to speak confusing volumes to Mike.

Peter paused for a moment then quickly recovered. Again, that action was almost imperceptible. He pulled her close and kissed her deep, full of passion, as his fingers threaded into her hair at the nape of her delicate neck. In response, she moaned deeply, then lifted her leg and hooked it around his waist, pulling him close. The pleats of her dress spilled open, revealing a delicate black lace garter.

Unwavered, completely ignoring the unwilling spectators in the room, Peter moved his left hand up to her leg, running his fingers up her thigh. He stopped kissing her, pulled back and looked at her, faces inches apart. Only Patty saw his eyebrows; they raised up slightly. She smiled, prompting Peter to run his hand further up her thigh, savouring the smooth firm skin, fingering the edge of the stocking, the length of the garter, the lace edge of her panties.

"This is a nice surprise" he said, his voice almost a low growl.

Patty smiled. "I thought I'd give you a little welcome back gift." She glanced down at her leg, at Peter's long fingers gently entwined in her garter, fingers playing with the delicate fabric.

Peter once again ran his hand up and down her thigh, a low moan now coming from him.

The trio sat on the couch, private thoughts all flying through their heads.

"Are youse done yet." McManus asked now. He and Boggs had returned from the balcony, having finished their smoke.

"Yeah, for now." Patty replied, her hands moving down and gently squeezing his backside. They parted, then Patty approached the couch and stood front of Micky again. Peter leaned against the pillar again, folded his arms again and watched.

Patty seemed to be studying Micky carefully.

Very, very carefully….


	3. Escape and Explanation

My first reviews! Yeah! Thank you! Sorry for the lack of updates - yes I am going to continue with this and complete this, just life got in the way, as usual. Too much working, too much sleeping and damn writer's block! That, and I decided to make a major change and had to rewrite some stuff. Ugh. I actually have scenes that occur later written up, but am missing the connecting pieces, and once again, writer's block. *sigh*

Anyway, here's the latest, enjoy!

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**_Chapter 3_**

"So this is him, huh?" Patty stood in front of the couch, carefully studying Micky. "The resemblance is remarkable."Except for the hair, it _is_ Babyface." She leaned over now, her face just a foot from Micky, who himself remained silent, eyeing her warily.

She raised her hand and slowly ran it through his hair, slower than she had with Peter, as Micky's curly hair easily tangled. However, unlike the time she spent on Peter hair, she quickly withdrew her hand, and ran her fingers along his cheek, before abruptly straightening herself.

"He's the perfect twin. All we have to do is change the hair, and this is Babyface. Peter, what are the odds?"

Peter just gave her a slight smile, no doubt the Monkees' previous encounter with Babyface somewhat fresh on his mind. He had told Patty all about it from his side of the story. Patty knew about this encounter, but she didn't want the others to be aware of that.

"I'm telling you, Patty. Babyface is gonna be here soon. You'd better scram." McManus, standing next to Peter, lit up another cigarette, even though he was inside the pad. He took a drag, then offered it to Peter.

"Mac is right, darling ." Peter took the cigarette between his thumb and index finger, inhaled deeply and said, "I think you need to go before something happens." Exhaling he added, "I think we are okay now."

"That's right, Patty. Everything under control."

"Alright Mac, if you insist. So we can go ahead with our plans, then?" She asked him.

"Yup. We go ahead."

Patty went over to Peter and gave him a long, lingering kiss. As she did this, McManus took a few steps away, eyes downcast, staring at the floor.

"I don't think I like the taste of the cigarette. Sorry baby. Otherwise you taste wonderful." She patted his cheek as he smiled, then turned and left the pad.

Peter, Boggs and McManus followed, standing at the door watching her walk down the pathway.

A large crash then was heard, and all three turned on their heels and bolted towards the couch.

…..

As Patty was saying goodbye to Peter, Micky tapped Mike and Davy quickly on the knee to get their attention. "Don't turn your heads." he whispered out of the side of his mouth. "We're gonna make a break for it."

"How?" Davy whispered back.

"When their attention is not on us." Mike replied, eyes carefully trained on Patty and Peter, who were focused only on themselves, while Boggs and McManus were focused on that show.

"Right. At my signal, we make a run for the balcony." Micky clarified.

"But what about Peter?" Davy asked.

"What about Peter, man." Mike was trying so hard to keep his voice low. "Peter right now is a lost cause. We have to save ourselves first and then figure out how we can help him."

The trio watched now as the three thugs stood at the door, attention riveted as Patty's slender form walked away.

"And a good time would be." Micky whispered, then louder, "NOW!"

The Monkees jumped off the couch, and darted for the balcony. Micky reached first but found the door jammed. He turned around to see the thugs running toward them. Peter made an impressive vault over the couch while McManus and Boggs swerved quickly around the coffee table and couch. In response, Mike threw his not so considerable weight against the door. It popped open, and the three Monkees tumbled onto the balcony floor. They scrambled to their feet, but it was too late.

McManus and Boggs managed to get a hold of Mike and Micky respectively, while Davy was hauled up off the floor by Peter. Davy winced as Peter's fingers dug into his shoulder.

"Pete! We need some rope. Got any around here?"

Peter paused in thought for a second. "No, I don't think so. Not here. But our landlord has a shed out back. I think he has some there."

"Good. Boggs, go get it!"

The large imposing man nodded and headed out the balcony door.

"Good job Pete." McManus approved.

"Thanks." Peter gave a sad smile, more like his usual self.

"Peter man, you're doing good. I know it's hard, but it'll work out, just like we discussed."

Mike, though with a gun pointed at his side, studied this. He felt the words from McManus felt a little odd. Not something he expected gangsters to say to each other. McManus was encouraging, supportive, and trying to keep Peter on the right track. It sat oddly for Mike. Maybe McManus had taken a shine to Peter, taken him under his wing, maybe that was it? But something just didn't sit well with Mike. Peter was a completely different person right now, a completely different…character? Mike mused. Was that it? If Peter was pretending to be someone else, he was doing a bang-up job. But why would Peter need to pretend….?

McManus broke through his whirling thoughts.

"You okay, Thor?"

Peter responded with a weary smile, "Yeah..."

"See? Everything under control."

….

After ten minutes and two more attempted escapes, Peter and the two thugs had Mike, Micky and Davy tied up on the couch with the rope that Boggs had found in the back shed. It had been a bit of an effort; Micky had tried to prevent being tied up by kicking and flailing every time he was thrown into the couch. Peter had to hold back Mickys' arms so that Boggs could finally restrain the curly haired Monkee. McManus and Boggs had taken care of Mike. Though tall and skinny, he possessed strength and proved quite the challenge to restrain. It wasn't until Peter held up Mike's precious 12-string guitar, pointed his gun at it and threatened to blow a hole through the middle, that Mike finally acquiesced. Davy, though small and scrappy, proved little problem. Peter carried him as though he were a 20 pound sack of potatoes.

Once the Monkees' were bound, the looks of utter anger and betrayal intensified. Peter felt it every time he turned his back. It was all he could do not to throw pillow cases over their heads to block the venom emanating from the trios' eyes.

Instead, he leaned against the pillar, head back against the stone, eyes closed, avoiding their eyes. His forehead was wrinkled, his jaw clenched tight, as though trying to fight off a massive headache. Every once in a while he opened his eyes, directed his gaze towards McManus, took a deep breath, then closed them again.

"Well Thor, gotta say, your friends are sneaky little bastards." Boggs remarked.

"The sneakiest." was Peter's simple reply, eyes still shut.

Boggs holstered his gun and started pacing. "This waiting is killing me" he declared, as he circled the pad, moving from the couch, to the kitchen, to the bandstand to the door, cracking his knuckles as he did.

McManus seemed calm, yet he paced also, slowly, in the opposite direction to Boggs. "Babyface is supposed to be here at exactly 6:15. It's a bit after six now. A few more minutes." The room fell into silence that lasted almost ten minutes.

The silence was all-encompassing, broken finally by the shrill ring of the phone. All eyes jerked toward the red rotary dial phone set on the kitchen table, a clear plastic cake cover protecting it. McManus was the closest, having paced nearby. He lifted the cake cover and grunted hello.

"Eh…..yeah…..you don't say….gotcha …..Alright …" McManus replaced the receiver and directed a meaningful look toward Peter before grimly addressing Boggs.

"C'mon Boggs. That was Louie Eyes. Says the Boss wants us waiting at the front." McManus headed for the front door now, gesturing for Boggs to follow.

"Louie Eyes? I thought he and Babyface had a falling out?"

"Apparently not anymore."

"Eh Mac, what about them?" he jerked his thumb toward the couch. "We can't leave 'em alone."

"No worries Boggs. Thor's got this covered. Right Thor?" McManus nodded to Peter.

"Uh huh. No problem Mac." The voice was clear, unafraid.

"But Mac…" he said loudly, then moved closer to McManus to whisper, "Can we trust him? I mean, these _were_ his friends?" Boggs voice was low, an attempted whisper, but the deep voice still carried. Peter heard this, but chose to ignore it.

"Don't worry Boggs. It's a little test for the kid. Boss' orders." He whispered back, the added loudly, "Kid, you'll do fine. Be strong."

Peter nodded, drew himself off the pillar, and now pointed his gun at the three Monkees. The facial expressions of the three Monkees were the same; wide-eyed, defiant, absolute confusion mixed with anger and betrayal. Mike in particular wore a scathing scowl on his face.

Boggs and McManus turned to leave again then McManus stopped, "Oh, I forgot." He reached into his side pocket and pulled out a small whiskey bottle. He set it on the coffee table and gave Peter a slight smile. "For your nerves. It'll calm ya." he said, then headed out the front door, followed by the hulking Boggs.

Peter looked at the table, at the couch, then back at the table. He felt tense. His back ached, his shoulders pulled tight. The weight of this endeavour was making his shoulders hunch in. His eyes moved back to the trio, who all stared at him in stony silence. _Maybe Mac was right_; he needed to calm down. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and headed to the kitchen for a glass.

He realized that he had to talk to them. Try to tell them not to worry. That there was a purpose to all of this, that if they just shut up and did what he, Peter, told them to do, they would all be better for it. He moved back to the couch, glass and bottle in hand and poured himself a rough shot.

Raising the glass in front of his face, he saluted the trio and then downed the amber liquid in one gulp. He pursed his lips, the liquid burning down his throat. He inhaled sharply, then poured some more.

It was a good thing that McManus had been teaching Peter all he needed to know. Five months ago, Peter would have coughed, spluttered and dry heaved, looking like a weak, pathetic child. Just a single shot would have made him buzzed within minutes. Now, as he tilted his head back, he savoured the warmth that spread from his throat, down his chest, settling in his belly. Mac was right; the whiskey seemed to calm him down immediately.

He splashed in yet another shot, smaller this time, said "cheers" to the boys, and a second later, the glass was empty again.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, his long blond hair swinging loose. Resetting the part, he opened his eyes and looked directly at the gaping mouths of the three on the couch.

"So I guess you want to know what's going on?" Peter's voice was a bit hoarse.

Davy shifted against the ropes. "Yes Peter, we would like to know what's going on." Davy asked, his voice level, hoping to finally get a response. "We want to help man. If you are in any trouble, tell us, and Mike, Micky and I will help you figure it out."

"That's right, Peter. We're here for you, babe. You know that." Micky's voice was soft, almost sad.

Peter's stomach clenched, thinking about how not 30 minutes ago, he almost strangled Micky to death.

Mike now spoke up, his voice equally pleading yet firm. "You're our best friend, Shotgun. Let's find a way to fix this. Please, man."

Peter stared at each of them in turn, his throat starting to tighten. He looked at his friends, his dear friends - his best friends - and felt his eyes water. The last hour had been extremely difficult for him. He knew what he had to do, knew his role. But he felt exhausted. It took all of his energy, trying to stay strong, trying to maintain his composure, trying to appear tough. He honestly wasn't sure he could for much longer. Patty's arrival had reassured him a bit, McManus also, with his calm and encouragement.

He didn't want to think back over the last five months. It was at times too hellish for him, but he was doing this for one reason and one reason only, so he felt that he would be able to deal. He thought he could deal. In the last hour though, he wasn't so sure. Now that Davy, Micky and Mike were finally in the middle, he was desperately trying not to break. Mike's pleading tone had somehow managed to crack his careful façade.

If only they could understand.

_Be strong kid_. Macs voice echoed in his head, those words, just as they had so many times before in the last five months. If only he could tell them, make them understand that he was doing this for them, for himself, for the greater good.

_Be strong…._

Micky broke through his thoughts. "Peter, we know that you're scared and terrified. We know these guys got you brainwashed, we get it. Let us go and we'll help you." Micky's voice was so soft and genuinely concerned, but his words had the complete opposite effect.

Peter just stared at Micky, anger replacing his fear. "You think I'm weak?"

"That's not what I said."

"But you implied it. You think I'm brainwashed. That I'm scared and can't think for myself."

"No Pete, I didn't mean it like that."

"I bet you think that I can't get you out of this mess, do you?"

Davy spoke up, "No, Micky didn't say that. He just thinks that maybe you might be misunderstanding what these guys are about."

"So you think I'm dumb, then."

"_I didn't say that!_"

He was surprised by his anger, he had to admit. He was taken back a bit by this reaction, but if they had known what he had gone through the last five months, they would never question his weakness or his ability to save them.

But now was not the time, he decided. He would only tell them what they needed to know right now.

He almost broke, but no, he would be strong.

_He was strong_.

His face relaxed a bit as he took a deep breath.

"I'm tired."

"Tired?"

"Yes tired." He took a pull from the whiskey bottle now, deciding to pace himself. "I'm tired Davy. I'm tired of being poor, of constantly fighting for a job, of living in this shithole, lousy apartment, living hand to mouth, never getting the respect we deserve." Peter exhaled, a sadness colouring his face. He took another draw.

The others waited.

"An opportunity presented itself. Mac helped me out of a jam a few months ago. Remember about six months ago, when I started filling in for Johnny?"

"Yeah, I remember. Johnny was sick, couldn't play bass, so you filled in." Davy thought back to that conversation six months ago. A local band called the Secret Agents lost their bass player Johnny for a few months due to a broken arm. He has been motorcycling and doing stupid tricks. Davy always thought maybe he had been drinking, something Johnny vehemently denied. One stupid trick later and Johnny went flying over the handlebars, landed on his left arm and skidded across 30 meters of pavement. His arm was to be in a cast for eight months, the breaks were so bad. Even though the Monkees and the Secret Agents were friendly rivals, they admired Peter's skill on bass so much they asked him to fill in for the injured Johnny. The agents had a long standing Thursday night gig at the Palades Bar and Night Club. Though it might disrupt some of their other gigs, the four agreed, if only because it brought in a steady bit of cash for those months.

"I didn't tell you the rest. That bar tried to accuse me of stealing from the cash register five months ago?

"What? Accuse you of stealing? Impossible!" Davy was incredulous.

"The bar owner called the cops and wanted to charge me. The Secret Agents weren't too sure about it either. They know how we live, Davy. They know we don't have money. They said they believed me, but I overhead Fred telling the waitress that he thought I might be guilty."

"Fred? The guitarist? I never liked him." Mike said immediately.

"The waitress thought I took the money too. Mike, they all thought I was guilty. They let me continue to play with them, but only paid me the next day, once they knew no money was missing from the night before." Peter paused, his lips curling in anger. "I never felt so ashamed and low in my life. I'm not a thief. We may be poor, but that accusation was such bullshit."

"We're not that poor!" Mike was angry now.

"Yes we are Mike. Yes we are." Peter said sadly. "They called the cops and everything. They put me in handcuffs, took me down to the police station. I was in jail for twelve hours before they let me go."

"That's why you were so late that one day. Because you were in jail?" Mike said. "We thought you went home with a girl, actually."

Peter nodded. "That's what I told you then, remember. Cause I came home around lunch the next day."

"Why didn't you call us to bail you out?" Davy asked.

Peter didn't answer, instead seemed lost in thought, staring past them towards the ocean, barely visible from the balcony. A minute later, he continued, ignoring Davy's question.

"Do you know what else the waitress told Fred? He told Fred that she would never, ever give such a poor and pathetic musician like me a chance. He asked her out though. And do you know what she said?" Peter paused, his lips curling in anger once again, "She said yes…because he has money. And I don't. He's not a poor musician. He's a catch and I'm a pathetic poverty-stricken jailbird thief."

"I didn't know they called the cops who took you to jail. Wow. So what, you doing this because some stupid girl rejected you?"

"No Micky. It has nothing to do with a girl. It has to do with my life. Our life."

"Peter, the opportunity will present itself. We will be successful. Every band has to struggle like this." Davy was filled with pity. "But we have each other, you know. We'll be a success. You'll see."

"These thugs aren't going to improve your life. They are going to make it worse. Much worse." Mike said bluntly. "You know that, Pete."

Peter ignored these words, lest he start to breakdown. He was starting the feel the alcohol, his head felt light, his muscles starting to loosen. He had to be strong. He needed to explain correctly to them, so they understood. "McManus was at that bar."

"McManus was there?"

"Mac was there. He was sitting at the bar right next to me, when the bar owner accused me. He stood up for me, threatened the owner, the waitress, even the Special Agents. Mac told them to not judge a book by its cover, you know, all that. He's the one who bailed me out. Then he showed the bar owner who really took the money. I didn't tell you that part."

"No you didn't tell us that part. So who took the money?" Davy asked.

"No one. There was a fault with the cash register. The bar owner took out some of the cash, put it in his safe and forgot about it. I found that out later."

"Pete! See! It was just a mistake!" Micky exclaimed. "The owner just forgot. But that doesn't mean you have to do all of this."

"Look, it's okay that you didn't tell us the whole story, about McManus, we understand. What he did was great, Peter, looking out for you, helping you out. But how much do you think you owe him?" Mike inquired. "I mean, how did you get yourself mixed up in this?"

Peter took another swig, his thoughts whirling. That last slug was too much; his head started to spin a bit. Peter rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Mac works for Babyface. I didn't know that until later. Mac offered to train me, help me out, mentor me, so I could do – stuff – jobs. To get money."

"You Pete? You're doing this for money?" Micky piped up. "You're betraying us for some quick cash?"

"Shut up Micky." Mike scolded. "He's doing this because he thinks he'll have a better life."

Micky shook his head sadly. "Being a thug is not much of a life, Peter. You just said you were ashamed for being accused of being a thief, right? So how is this better?"

"Mac helped me out. I owe him."

"Do you think you owe him that much?" Micky shot back. "All the stuff we're been though, and you're going to simply betray your best friends."

Peter's heart now filled with pain. If only he could tell Micky the truth. He couldn't, not yet anyway.

_Be strong kid…._

The alcohol was making harder to suppress his true feelings.

_Be strong._

"Or were you being typically stupid, Peter, and thought Babyface was me."

Peter now stared at Micky for a long time, his face stone cold, causing Micky to cower a bit after a minute. He struggled to keep his anger in check. "I know he's not you, Micky. I'm not being stupid, however much you think I am. I'm doing this for a better life." Against his better judgement, he had another swig, then slammed the bottle onto the table. "For all of us."

"So I assume that Babyface needs Micky again for something. Some job, right?" Mike asked.

Peter nodded.

"And you, Boggs and that Mac guy are helping him."

Another nod.

"And you're gonna throw away your best friends, risk your life and ours, do some nasty things and break some laws, just to earn some cash?"

"I'm sorry, Michael."

McManus and Boggs now re-entered the pad.


	4. The Plan

**Chapter 4**

The boss was due to arrive any minute. McManus decided to review the plan with Boggs and Peter before Babyface showed up, not even bothering to hide it from the three tied on the couch.

"So this is what we's gonna do. Babyface is going to arrive to see the situation. He plans on taking Micky there to the restaurant until tomorrow. I'm gonna go with them. Boggs, you and Peter are gonna take the other two to the warehouse and hold them as insurance, until the jobs done."

Boggs cracked his knuckles threateningly. "I'm gonna enjoy watching over them. Maybe I'll teach Thor here some tricks on keeping 'guests' occupied." he said, cackling.

Peter just smirked, "Whatever you want, man,"

McManus continued. "We're scheduled for the heist tomorrow. Once it's done, Peter, you're gonna take these two to that place we talked about, okay?"

Peter nodded.

"Where's that, Mac?" Boggs questioned.

"Can't tell you Boggs. Orders from Babyface. Just like you're not gonna tell me where you are going after."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Micky's gonna stay with Babyface for another day to ensure his visibility. Boggs, after tomorrow you're gonna go to Micky's location. Babyface is gonna hightail it out of there. After another day, you're gonna let him go. Got it?"

"Got it." The hulking thug cracked his knuckles again prompting McManus to say, "and don't entertain yourself too much. Keep him in one piece."

Micky's eyes went wide on the couch. He swallowed nervously.

"C'mon Mac, where's the fun."

"Because, idiot, people are gonna see him, think they see Babyface, and wonder how Babyface got so bruised and battered in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know…"

"Peter, after the second day, you can let these yahoos go. But then you've got to disappear, okay?"

"Okay."

"Disappear?" The couch dwellers were silent until now. Mike narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean, _disappear_?"

"He's got a new career ahead of him." McManus said.

Peter looked at Mike coldly. "Really Michael, you're going to let me back in the band after all of this crap has gone down. I'm thinking not." Peter sighed, "Sorry fellas, you're a trio now, It's been fun, but adios."

"So you're really going to do this? Give up your life for this?" Davy said.

"Already have."

"Peter…"

"It's better this way…." He trailed off, before grabbing the almost empty whiskey bottle and heading for the balcony.

The room was silent for a long time, before Davy piped up again. "You guys should be ashamed of yourselves."

"Ashamed?" Boggs laughed, "And why's that, shorty?"

"You ruined his life."

"We improved his life."

"Yeah, I can see that." The sarcasm dripped from Davy's voice. "He's drinking, smoking, beating people up, carrying a gun, breaking the law. So much better, 'innit?"

"My advice to you kids," McManus voice was authoritative, commanding. "Leave him be. Don't interfere. Do exactly what you are told. He's got a job to complete, and we'll be all the better for it. Especially you three."

"Oh yeah, I can see that. I'm better off here, tied up, roughed up. So much better."

"Cut the smartass tone, shorty." Boggs warned.

"What do you mean, _especially you three_?" Mike voice was angry, "What the hell is going on here?"

"You'll all get out of this alive and in one piece. Just stay out of Peter's business. If you know what's good for you."

Peter now returned from the balcony, whiskey bottle empty. His face was hard, his eyes almost dead. Mike could have sworn there was a little redness to them, but he couldn't be sure. Peter approached the couch and stood in front of the boys. His face was hard, almost seething in anger.

"It's been fun guys and I wouldn't want to leave without a parting gift, something you guys can remember me by…" He flashed them a smile, obviously fake with no emotion behind his eyes. "Bass and banjos' yours. Try to take care of them, even though you bastards can't play them, but whatever. Maybe my replacement can."

The Monkees didn't have time to respond. A car pulled up to the front of the pad and a horn went off four times.

"He's here." Boggs announced, almost ominously. "Let's get this show on the road."


End file.
